Every author I know drives him or herself crazy in final edits. That point where you just have to ‘let it go.'
I include myself in this list.
My sequel to A Thousand Bridges is finished now. As long as I never read it again until it's in print. Or on Kindle. When my meddling will no longer matter.
On the periphery of my world these last few weeks were concerts I performed at, long trips with friends and Maggie, and I thought about finishing the damned book the entire time.
It's not just an ‘author's' thought. Finishing the crossword puzzle, the lawn and, dare I mention (?), the garden. There's a thank you on the first pages of my novel to my son Grif. It says to him, "for telling me to finish what I start."
He was twelve years old when he said that to me.
There comes a time when you're done.
You believed in it, now do the hard part and prove it.
Let it go.
Have faith in your beliefs, in your effort. If nobody reads it, buys it or loves it, you're still finished with it. Time to move on.
So, to myself I say, "It's time to release the next one. I'm finished here."
Gulp.
